by David Beem
I turn away since I can’t stand to look at her right now. On the side of the Tree of Life, a bear sticks his head into a river and comes out with a fish in its mouth. I stretch out my consciousness, taking notice of the porous boundaries between Mary and me. Probing her consciousness is like entering an infinite expanse of colorful hanging beads, with each point of contact imprinting on me the certainty of her conclusions. I face her again.
“At least agree to rule out all options before going nuclear. That’s framing it in a way you can get behind, isn’t it?”
Not looking up, she nods. I crook a finger under her chin and lift her face. She peers up at me through worn-out eyes, but her determination is as strong now as when she told Bruce she’d die for me. Which is totally going to be a problem. If she’s going to live through this, I’m going to have to trick her. There’s no way she’s giving up this crappy idea of hers on her own.
She cups my face in her hand, and her sad smile returns. “Oh, Edger. You can’t trick me.”
“We’ll see.”
I peer deep into her oceanic blues. The rebels will have something for us, she’s thinking. Well, her optimism is something, I guess. Unless this is her tricking me by thinking what I want to hear?
A barking dog breaks the silence. Her forehead crinkles. “Is that Wendy?”
I grab her waist, and she slips her arms around my neck. Turning our gazes skyward, we speed through a flurry of soul-stars to the world above.
Chapter Thirty-One
We come awake in each other’s arms, lips still mashed together, our bodies stretched across the piles of clothes strewn on the bed. Wendy bounds into the room, barking like our lives depend on it. Mary pushes my chest, and I scoot back. Sitting up, she smooths down her still-wet hair. A cold breeze rustles the hair on my legs.
Oh, right. Pants.
I roll left—flail—shoulder hits the floor.
Whump.
“I’m okay!”
“Stop fooling around,” she snaps. “How close?”
My skin tingles as I open the remote viewing.
“Villagers from the other end of the island.” I arch my back and pull my jeans up over my butt. Tuck myself in, button up. “On foot. Less than a mile. They must’ve smelled the campfire.”
“You think Mikey suspects?”
I climb to my feet. Her lips are parted and turned down. I probe the Collective Unconscious before answering.
“No inbound nukes, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Her shoulders slump. “Oh, thank God.”
“For all he knows, Edger Bonkovich and Mary Thomas are radioactive toast.”
She bites her bottom lip, then launches herself at the bed, hands snatching up armfuls of clothes. Her gaze snaps up. “Don’t just stand there.”
“What’re you doing?”
“Hiding the evidence.”
Clothes all over the bed. Steam in the bathrooms. Used towels. The kitchen trash.
“Even if the owner of this house isn’t physically with the villagers coming to investigate,” she says, holstering the gun on her back, “his mind will be assimilated into Nostradamus’s. Mikey’s, I mean.”
“He’ll know the condition the house was in last,” I reply, finishing her train of thought. “You’re right. Okay, make a pile in the middle of the floor.”
She starts chucking everything, her pile of clothes, towels. She races to the bathroom.
I snatch a shirt and pull it over my head. Socks, shoes.
Mary returns with an armful of I-don’t-know-what and adds it to the pile. I concentrate and draw from the Collective Unconscious. A torrent of glittering soul-stars enters through the base of my skull, and tiny microexplosions erupt like popping candy. They course through my neural network, down to my fingers and toes, racing back up to my brain and gathering behind my forehead. I release it like a whipping towel, and it swirls through the kitchen, tying up the trash, gathering the dishes left in the sink, wrapping up the pile in the bedroom, pulling out the steam still lingering in the bathroom, lifting the still-smoldering remains of our campfire, the darkened sand at the periphery, and even the smoke. I carry it all out to sea.
Old English, says Nigel, has a wide range of wood care products to protect and nurture your wood surfaces. Amaze your friends—
Not now, Nigel!
Then perhaps ShamWow? Be the envy of your—
Voices carry from the front of the house. Wendy snarls and barks. Her lips peel back over vicious canines, and she releases a deep growl. Oh, crap. She’s going to lead them straight to us. I snatch Mary’s hand, haul her after me. More microeruptions; the doors open with invisible power.
“You’re gonna have to Superman us out of here,” she says as we skid to a stop on the rustic balcony deck. Oh, man. Wendy’s followed us. She’s given away our position here. She’ll do it at our next home too. The poor brown-and-white mutt, her hackles up, her long body pointing in the direction of the approaching zombies. A tiny fire in me winks out.
“We’ll fix this world,” I say, more to reassure myself than her. “You’ll be okay. When this is all done, we’ll come back.”
“Don’t be stupid,” says Mary. “She’s with us now.”
“Mary, no. I’m sorry. We’re not playing family anymore. If she comes with us, she’s in danger, and she’ll put us in danger.”
Mary cups my cheek in her hand. “Edger, we’re not playing family. We are family. She’s with us. We are not leaving her behind.”
The fire roars back to life in my chest. A beat later, we’re skimming the water through the shadows of night, away from the moon, Wendy cradled in Mary’s arms like a baby.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” says Caleb, his brain wiring sparking at the ends. “Are you telling me Edger was never meant to be Zarathustra?”
“Meant to be?” Sarah’s mouth twists to the side. “By whose plan?”
“That’s just it,” says Fabio. “It’s been Nostradamus’s plan all along. Hasn’t it?”
Sarah’s features soften as she turns her gaze on Fabio. She smiles, and Caleb draws a sharp breath. “Not necessarily, Best Friend of Edger.”
Fabio sits up straighter. Anna beams at him.
“That.” Caleb wags his finger. “That sounded significant. Why did you call him Best Friend of Edger?”
Fabio smirks. “Hey—no need to be so jelly. Edge’s got a big heart. I’m sure there’s room enough in there for you. When he’s done hanging out with me, I mean.”
“So honorable.” Anna strokes Fabio’s arm. “Just how a best friend should be. I bet you’ll make a great father one day.”
Fabio puffs his chest out and then slouches, his forehead wrinkling. “Wait, what?”
Anna waves it away. “Never mind.”
Caleb focuses on Sarah. “You said it’s not necessarily been Nostradamus’s plan all along. Then you called him Best Friend of Edger.”
Sarah stands. “Walk with me.”
She breaks for the exit before anyone can reply. Fabio and Anna kick their chairs over on the way out. Caleb’s mouth twists to the side.
“I’ve got two more questions for every answer she’s given,” he mutters, standing and pushing his chair in.
He pushes back the tent flap, and Mufasa’s shaggy head lifts to release a soft growl. Caleb staggers left. Mufasa’s gaze lingers for a second, and then the lion lays his head back on his forelegs and closes his eyes.
“Make that three more questions,” he mutters again.
Caleb scans the camp. There—Fabio and Anna hurrying away from the Humvees. Ahead of them, Sarah heads into a denser patch of forest. He jogs and easily closes the distance.
“Understand,” says Sarah, not breaking stride, “if I’d shown you a month ago what I’m about to show you now, you’d be shot if you tried to leave the camp. You may still.”
“Umbwhat?” asks Fabio.
“No one will shoot you, s
illy.” Anna slaps his shoulder. “That’d be like shooting Samwise for leaving the Shire. Edger’s royalty here. That makes you royalty.”
“You hear that, Caleb?”
“You mustn’t leave,” says Sarah. “Edger needs you here.”
“Well, dang,” says Fabio. “That’s all you had to say.”
“And you,” says Sarah, rounding on Caleb. “You let my son down.”
“Ms. Bonkovich—”
“Sarah,” she says. “Hear me out. You let him down, but it was to protect him. I know. Kate Clarke is a Nostradamus agent, and you had to get close. Sometimes that means hurting someone you care about. You do care about him? My son?”
Her laser-like scrutiny seems to reach into the backs of his sockets. His head draws back. Fabio arches an eyebrow. Anna folds her arms and peers down her nose at him, despite being at least a foot shorter. “Yes,” he stammers, meeting all three of their probing gazes in turn. “Yes.”
Sarah’s gaze doesn’t relent. He clenches his jaw but wills himself not to look away. Man, if she stared at him any harder, she’d probably find the password to his online bank account. Finally, her gaze softens. She nods, then resumes her power-walk pace, leaving him standing there with his pulse all the way up at Super Bowl level.
Fabio slaps his biceps. “I think you passed. Welcome to the family. You’re probably, like, a minor, minor duke. Bard! Maybe the court minstrel.”
“Thanks, little bro.”
“I’ve got my eye on you.” Anna points with two fingers at her eyes, then his, and then hurries after Sarah.
Caleb catches up to them.
“We expect the end every minute of every day,” says Sarah over her shoulder. “With so few ATDs, we’re vulnerable here. An old lady could march through our field and into this camp. And if our scouts don’t shoot, let’s say because they can’t bring themselves to shoot an old lady for example, that old lady could invade the minds of everyone here. I’m taking the time to explain this so you understand the stakes. You can never leave after what I’m about to show you.”
“I’ll do what I have to,” he replies.
“As will we all,” offers Anna.
“If Nostradamus finds you,” says Sarah, “he’ll read your mind and we’ll lose our advantage. Everyone in this camp will have made their sacrifices for nothing.”
“What advantage?” he asks. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Again, she stops walking, this time near a bright-orange tent. Caleb inventories the site. Cooler. Camp chairs with cup holders stuffed with unopened beer cans. A fire pit. And nailed to a nearby tree is a sign: Límites del campamento de aguas termales de Guadalupe Canyon.
Fabio bends over, hands on his knees. “Phoo. The Bonkovich power walk. My legs aren’t that long!” Anna pats him on the shoulder.
“What is this place?” asks Caleb.
“It isn’t what it seems,” Sarah replies, gesturing with her hand for him to enter the tent.
Sparing a glance for Fabio and Anna, he bends over and unzips the tent. Without looking inside, he steps out of the way and pushes the flap inward, tilting his head and holding Sarah’s gaze. The corner of her lips rises on one side, and his breathing halts midbreath. She ducks and enters, left foot first—and stepping down. Caleb’s head ticks back, then forward. He pushes the tent flap in farther, sticks his head inside. A staircase?
“Awesome!” cries Fabio over his shoulder. “A secret-secret base!”
“Just when I thought this couldn’t get any weirder,” mutters Caleb. He steps down and lets the flap close behind him. Four steps in, the concrete walls rising on his left and right are already oppressive. The light from above fades.
“Sarah?”
“Down here.”
His hands surf the cold walls as he feels his way with his toes. Step. Another step.
“Sure is dark,” says Fabio on the stairs behind him.
“It is a Jedi’s destiny to confront her fear,” replies Anna.
“But isn’t it funny all those Force Ghost Jedi let the galaxy go to shit after Episode Six?” asks Fabio. “Luke’s Jedi school. The rise of the First Order? Emperor Palpatine’s resurrection? Not one of those dead Jedi thought to give Luke or Leia a heads-up? Hey, Ben Solo is having impure thoughts! Just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Thanks for spoiling the movie,” says Sarah.
“Ooh, sorry. I forgot. You really are cut off from the outside world.”
The stairs seem to go on forever. Caleb clicks his tongue. He should’ve counted steps. His forearm collides with something soft and springs back.
“Excuse me,” mutters Sarah.
“Sorry,” he replies, his cheeks heating.
A lock unlatches, and light spills in. Sarah pushes open a creaky iron door and goes inside. He pauses, then follows.
It’s a concrete bunker. Maybe eighteen feet by eighteen feet. Low ceiling, a single buzzing lightbulb. Shelves of canned and boxed food. A door in the corner, probably the bathroom. And at the center is a lone table and chair. Man, you’d have to be pretty desperate to retreat here. A room made for one, when all hope is lost.
Caleb eases a knot in his shoulders. “This place would drive you crazy if you ever had to use it. Surely you could’ve made it bigger than this.”
A dead bolt latching into place sends his fight-or-flight into high gear. He spins around, fists clenched—
Fabio falls over, his hands raised in surrender. Anna flattens herself against the inside of the closed door.
“You locked us in here,” he says, pulse racing.
“She’s not allowed in here,” Anna replies. “Only the animals are allowed. And I’m betting that’s why.” She peels herself off the door and tilts her head toward the table. Toward the black box sitting on the table. Releasing his breath, Caleb rounds the table, regards the chair a moment longer, and sits. Fabio and Anna flank him. He glances at the bolted door, then Anna.
“We can’t leave,” she says. “I know I can’t stop you, but nobody in camp is allowed down here. If you tried to leave, I—I don’t know what would happen.”
“What is this?” he asks, tipping his chin at the box. “Plutonium?”
“Dude!” cries Fabio. “I bet it’s nuclear launch codes.”
Anna leans in closer. “Open it.”
Shoulders squeeze him from both sides. Caleb scoots free and bends for a closer look. Not that different from a fireproof box, the kind you’d get at Lowe’s. He flips the latch, opens the lid. His stomach plummets.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“It’s so beautiful,” she says, peering into the sky from her back on a cushion of telekinetic power. Hands clasped beneath her head, hair streaming behind, her eyes are like two mirrors held up to the Milky Way.
Wendy’s tongue is like one of those inflatable tube men tipped on its side as she flies between us. Her breathing is content. She’s so trusting. She could be peering out a car window and not, in fact, hurtling over the curvature of the earth. It’s amazing how adaptable we’ve become.
“I’m taking us down,” I say, rubbing my stinging eyes.
“Careful. All it takes is one person spotting us and the whole island will know we’re coming.”
I lower us gradually and make our approach as low to the water as possible. The colors ahead are like a pointillist painting. Pinks and tans and greens on land, turquoise, light and deep blues at sea. The surface of the water sweeps up beneath us. Wendy dips her paw in, then snatches it back and barks. My stomach clenches. I stroke her head, and she licks my hand. Man, wouldn’t it be great if I could use the Collective Unconscious to settle her down the way Dad does me? Speaking of which, I should probably check in with the Great Beyond.
Dad?
The wind decrescendos as I slow our approach. I scan the coastline. Hotels or villas?
“Take a penthouse.” Mary points at a balcony on one of the larger buildings. “Easy escape, easy defense.”
“Right.”
“I’ll see if anyone’s close enough to hear,” I say.
Dad? Come on. What, you sleeping?
Mary releases Wendy’s snout, and the dog licks her face. The beach spreads out in front of us, and I slow way down. Wendy’s tail wags. I release her, and she springs for the hotel like a rocket. My shoes sink into the sand. I touch my temple and focus my concentration.
Dad? Bruce?
Mary’s hand slips over my shoulder. She pulls, but I hunch and turn away.
Come on, guys. Hanzo? Einstein? This isn’t funny.
The hush of the waves at our backs is the only answer.
Mary squeezes my shoulder. “Edger.”
Nigel? Anyone?
“Edger, you’re scaring me.” She grabs my elbows and steers me to face her. Her lips part and turn down. Her grip slackens. “They’re gone. That’s it. Isn’t it?”
Is anyone out there? Can you hear me?
She releases my elbows, and her head tips back. Again, I turn away and concentrate.
Please, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny. Bruce! You can’t leave me like this!
Nothing.
Bruce, I swear to God, come back right now or I’m quitting. Mary and I are going to settle down on this island and have sex all day every day.
Nothing.
Oh, come on! I yell. Nigel, I know you heard that. Sex. With Mary. All day.
Nothing.
“Edger! Talk to me!”
I release a sigh and face her. Hair blowing across her face, her skin pale, her posture stooped, she runs her fingertips along her forehead and tucks her hair behind her ear. She’s naked again, emotionally. Like before. She’s let me inside her fortress, and I’m failing her.
I bend to sit, but my legs give out at the last second. I hit the beach with a molar-jarring whump, my hands flopping at my sides. The sand is cool. Mary takes a seat next to me. She pushes her hand between my biceps and ribs, hugs my arm and pulls in close. She feels good. Warm. She leans her head on my shoulder, and her soapy scent triggers a knot in my throat.